


Scribbling

by randi2204



Series: The Spurs of the Badlands [2]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 3K Round-up Challenge, Characters Reading Fanfiction, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 22:10:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7286587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just what was Ezra hiding in his desk?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scribbling

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Not mine, no money, just having fun.

Because he valued his own privacy so much, Chris wasn’t normally one to go prying into others’ business.  In fact, he wanted nothing so much as to have _nothing_ to do with anyone else’s business.

 

The thing was, though, that Ezra had been acting… strange lately.  Stranger than usual, Chris allowed.  Secretive.  Distracted.  _Twitchy_.  He hadn’t even shown much interest in playing poker the past few days, and _that_ done more than just make both Nathan and JD positive that Ezra was sick; it had convinced Chris that it was past time to pry.

 

Which was why he was sneaking into Ezra’s room in the middle of the day, unlocking the door with the extra key Inez kept.  He had a pretty good idea of where to look for what was making Ezra act the way he was.

 

And even if he was wrong… hell, he still wanted to know.

 

Just a few nights ago, he’d made his way to Ezra’s room after the saloon had closed, had knocked and entered without waiting for permission, just as he usually did, and discovered Ezra shoving papers into his writing desk with more haste than care.

 

Chris paused, latched the door quietly behind himself.  “What’s that?”

 

Ezra had glanced up as he closed the desk lid, grinned his most mischievous grin.  “Nothin’ of consequence,” he answered.   “Just… scribblin’.”  But the faint flush reddening his cheeks told a different story. 

 

It was that blush that made Chris wonder. Ezra had never been shy about his body, at least in private, and he had never blushed before, not even when making the most outrageous of demands.  So whatever it was making him blush, it was written on those papers.

 

And Chris was _very_ interested in knowing what might make Ezra blush.

 

When the lock tumbled, he pushed the door open and slipped inside, nudging it shut behind him.  Ezra’s writing desk did not have a lock, for which Chris spared a moment’s gratitude, as he had no skill in picking locks.  He sat down in the chair and pulled the desk open.

 

There were a great many papers inside, most neatly pigeonholed, some stacked in ragged piles, others just tossed in haphazardly.  The ones he could see were covered with Ezra’s familiar bold script.   He picked up the nearest sheet of paper, one that did not appear to belong to any particular pile.

 

… Chris studied him, his dark eyes sharp, then his generous mouth curved in a grin  most wicked. “You sure that’s what you want?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

 

Chris pushed himself upright in the chair, staring at the paper in shock.  “What in the hell…”  Was _this_ what Ezra had been working on?  Quickly, he scanned the rest of the page, eyes widening.

 

Apparently the demands Ezra made aloud were nothing compared to what went on in his head.  Chris felt his own cheeks heating as he continued to read, devouring one page after another.

 

_... flicked the rowel of the spur; its chime sounded loud in the darkened quiet of the room.  The stifled gasp beneath him made him grin, and he bent forward in order to drag the spur down the center of that broad chest – not intending to damage the fine skin, but just to make it prickle from the chill of the metal._

 

_… “Wonder what will happen if I dig these into_ your _sides?”_

 

“Jesus,” Chris breathed, and had to shift in the chair to find a more comfortable position.  He reached for the next stack.

 

These pages had words crossed out, blotches of ink where Ezra had let the pen rest for too long; an altogether rougher draft than the first piece.

 

_… the leather of the  belt was supple from use and care, warm from ~~Chris’s~~ the heat of Chris’s body, and the silver studs reflected the lamplight back into his eyes, blinding him to everything but Chris._

 

The creak of the door opening made him flinch, but it was too late to hide what he was doing.  Feeling a bit guilty, he looked up and found Ezra standing in the doorway, staring at him in something like disbelief before he turned to close the door.

 

“I should have known,” Ezra said, more to the door than to Chris, “that you were planning something like this when Mister Tanner and Mister Wilmington each tried to entice me out of town for a ride.  I suppose I have only myself to blame for letting myself get so… distracted.” 

 

At last he faced Chris again, and even though he reminded himself that the look of betrayal he wore was probably at least as much feigned as real, Chris still felt the sting of his conscience.  “The way you were actin’, you had everyone thinkin’ there was somethin’ wrong,” he said, with a quiet air of apology he couldn’t quite hold back.  “Just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

 

“If you had simply asked, I would have given you the information freely.”  Then Ezra gave him a pointed look, gaze dropping to his hands before returning to his face.  One eyebrow arched.  “And did you enjoy your reading?”

 

Chris shifted again as he realized he still held the last page he’d read.  He put it back on the stack from which he’d taken it.  “Where’d you get the idea for…”

 

Ezra dropped his eyes, and incredibly, Chris saw a blush creep into his cheeks.  “It was JD’s fault,” he muttered.

 

“JD?”  Chris sat back, staring.  “What the hell does _JD_ have to do with…”

 

Ezra huffed.  “He had another of that seemingly unending supply of whoop-up stories Jock Steele produces, this one nothing more than a thinly-veiled retelling of one of our… more bullet-filled adventures.  JD accused me of selling the tale to him – which, of course, I _hadn’t_ , but he wouldn’t listen – and then, it occurred to me…” He trailed off.

 

Chris understood immediately.  “You could write stories just as good, maybe better.”

 

“Of course.”  Ezra cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything more.

 

Chris felt his lips curl up in a smirk.  “Not sure there’s a place in New York that’ll print stories like _these_ , Ezra,” he teased, tapping one of the stacks of closely written pages.

 

Ezra relaxed at his tone, looked at him steadily, with a hint of a smile.  “Those are… practice exercises.  I thought it might be… easier to write a more imaginary piece before attemptin’ to write a full adventure.”

 

“Mmm.”  Chris picked up the page again, pretended to read.  “Imaginary, huh?” He looked at Ezra over the top of the paper.  “This is stuff you think about? Maybe stuff you want to try?”

 

Because he was watching, he saw Ezra go very still as the import of the casual-sounding question struck him, saw him lick his lips.  Then he grinned, dimples creasing his cheeks.  “Well, Mister Larabee, if you are amenable…” He reached behind himself, turned the key in the lock, then strode forward to settle astride Chris’s legs, feet firmly planted.  “We can set about makin’ those fictions into reality.  You should be aware, however…”  He trailed his fingers along Chris’s gun belt, over the butt of his gun before leaning in to whisper against his lips, “I have a… _vivid_ imagination.”

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for the [fic_promptly](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/) prompt [author's choice, author's choice, fanfic](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/63927.html?thread=3043255#cmt3043255)


End file.
